


Blame Me

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [31]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Cognitive Dissonance, Decisions, Dragon Age Quest: The Last Straw, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Struggles, Fenris Chooses, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hawke Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Side Romance: Isabela/Merrill, Trouble In Paradise, Violence, Why Are These Two Such Losers For Each Other?, misperceptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: The world explodes. In the wake of its destruction, Fenris faces the cognitive dissonance he’s lived with for so long.





	Blame Me

**Author's Note:**

> A large portion of this directly quotes the ending of Dragon Age 2. This note is both a spoiler warning and a boring-meter: there are parts that are original, but all of it is couched within canon. Sorry!

The world exploded.

They all, as one, turned to the abomination. Even with his gaze trapped on the blond, he couldn’t help but see Azzan Hawke’s face, slackened, wide-eyed, _heartbroken_ , as he turned, as well, to a man he considered a close friend. It was telling, to him, that through it all, Anders never once tried to meet Azzan’s gaze. Still, he completed his little tirade. “There can be no peace.”

Beside them all, Sebastian fell to his knees, wailing at his loss. Fenris watched as the man regained enough composure to begin praying, then turned fully to Azzan. The man looked lost. They’d only just finished breaking their fast when Azzan had received an urgent letter begging him to help soothe the rising tensions between the grand enchanter and the knight commander. Hawke had only just begun trying to do so when Anders had stepped forward.

The grand enchanter turned to Anders, demanding to know why. Why he’d destroyed the chantry in a fit of pique. Fenris felt his heart racing beneath his ribs as he looked upon the rubble before them. In an instant, an entire building and all those who had resided within were nothing more than dust. The great pink column of magic had burst, dispersing the ruins throughout the town and, if the blast had been large enough, perhaps even beyond.

The mage had killed countless. Yet another magic-user who had abused his power for his own sake. He looked to Hawke, still unable to speak, even as Anders answered the grand enchanter’s question. Yet another magic-user who hurt Hawke’s heart.

Meredith stepped forward. “The grand cleric has been slain by magic, the chantry destroyed.” She turned slightly to address her men. “As Knight Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment.” Azzan jerked as if he’d been slapped. Fenris frowned. What was the Right of Annulment? “Every mage in the Circle,” she continued, “is to be executed. Immediately!”

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino turned to Azzan. Azzan, still in shock, his pupils dilated, stood frozen. “Champion, you can’t let her! Help us stop this madness!”

Meredith pointed at Hawke. “And I call on you to keep order. After what just occurred, you cannot deny what must be done.”

Azzan swallowed.

“Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here?” Sebastian snarled. “I swear to you,” he said, looking at Hawke, “I will kill him.”

The mage turned to him, too, finally meeting his gaze. Fenris itched to throw them all away, to shield Hawke’s eyes and ears from this. Hawke still hadn’t spoken since he’d asked Anders what he’d done. Yet despite how uninvolved he’d been, despite him clearly being as horrified and overwhelmed as the citizens shouting and screaming around them, still everyone turned to him. But it was too late. Hawke could not unsee this, and this moment could not be undone. Even now, it felt like the world was hurtling forward, almost too fast for Fenris to follow. “It can’t be stopped now,” Anders said, for once reflecting Fenris’ own thoughts. Azzan stared at his old friend. “You have to choose.”

He did. He did have to choose. Fenris took a single step forward, only to pause. Hawke wasn’t the only one. They all did. This moment was already smashing down on them, demanding they run or be crushed. Where did he stand? He hated Anders, distrusted the mages. The templars were of concern as well; if Meredith hadn’t specified that all Circle mages would be destroyed, he would have feared that her anger might make her turn her blade on Azzan. But even if Azzan was safe, if he chose their side…

But he already knew. If Azzan was forced to choose a side, he already knew which one the man would pick.

Was he all right with that?

Azzan’s mouth opened. His brows drew low. “Was…” The man’s voice wobbled. Stopped short as if cut. With effort, he managed to continue. “That why you needed me to distract the grand cleric?”

Fenris stilled. The mage had tricked Hawke into helping him with this? The bastard had used Hawke’s friendship, his trust in him?

Because Hawke wouldn’t have helped him if he’d known. There’s no way Hawke would have ever allowed something like this to happen. Look at him! Even now, his hands shook. His breath came in shallow hisses. His body trembled as if about to crack apart. He looked like glass the instant before it shattered. His voice, almost breathless, came in short, low bursts, as he gritted his teeth to force it to remain level.

Sebastian, however, chose not to see this. “You were part of this?”

Anders looked away for a moment, then looked back, his lips thin. “If I had told you what you were doing, you would have felt honor-bound to stop me.” Damn straight he would, mage! “I couldn’t take that chance.” Of course not, you fucking coward. But that fact would not stop Azzan from faulting himself for not knowing, for not stopping him, from the guilt of having _helped_ the bastard in this massacre. He hadn’t considered Hawke at all. As usual, the mage had only thought of himself.

The mage dared turn to them – to Hawke’s friends, gathered to him to prepare for the stalker, not for _this_ – and dared preach to them. “The Circle is an injustice. In many places beyond Kirkwall. The world needs to see.”

Oh, the world had seen, all right. No one would ever think mages trustworthy ever again.

“Elthina is not the Circle,” Sebastian said. “She was a good woman, and you murdered her!”

“You fool,” Orsino said. “You’ve doomed us all!”

“We were already doomed,” Anders said, oddly calm as he spoke those words. Resigned. “A quick death now or a slow one later. I’d rather die fighting.”

Still, Hawke had yet to choose. He stood as if barely able to keep his feet beneath him. Fenris could almost see the thoughts whirring in the man’s brain, ideas forming wildly, only to burst as he realized nothing would work. It was too late. People still screamed, wailed – the entire city was in a panic. The mage was right about one thing – there would be no peace.

Whether any mage would _rather_ die fighting or not – they now had to.

“You’re a murderer,” Azzan said. The words filtered out slowly, as if he himself was unwilling to accept them. “The grand cleric. The mages. Their blood is on your hands.”

There was something on his face. Something beyond the anger. Fenris had seen it enough times to know what it was the instant it appeared. Hurt.

“I know,” Anders said. There was something like hurt there, too, for all that it mattered. Fenris watched Hawke. It mattered to him. Fenris could tell.

“It doesn’t matter,” Meredith said. She waved it all away, blame and fault and even lives. “Even if I wished it, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood.”

Azzan stared at all of them. His chest heaved with every breath. The armor he wore was still new, still shocking in its colors and complexity. It showed off the muscles in those long, lean arms, The long line of that unflinching back. Fenris had broken that armor in on Azzan’s bed just the day before. He’d woken to Hawke sitting up next to him, the man’s aura all around them as he worked through some papers. Their morning had not prepared them for this moment. That armor had not been made for this. But, as Azzan raised his head to face the mages, Fenris couldn’t help but think he looked stunning in the moment he made his stand. “I won’t let them slaughter all of you.”

“But what of Anders?” Sebastian said, even as Fenris’ blood grew cold.

“Hawke,” Aveline said. Her voice was a warning. She stepped forward, close to Fenris’ side. “If you do this, I don’t know if I can follow.”

Hawke looked at her. His gaze caught on Fenris… and stayed. Fenris took a deep breath. He’d sworn he would never keep silent on his thoughts again. He’d promised himself that when he’d run from Danarius, and he wouldn’t back down now. Even though he knew his words would hurt Azzan further. His hands clenched into fists. “After all the evil that magic has wrought, you would still support them?”

Azzan hung his head. He looked almost as if something inside him had been cut, some load-bearing beam within him broken. Fenris inhaled to speak again just as Hawke turned to him. “I know,” he said. His eyes were no longer wide, but squinted. “ _I know_. I know you hate mages. I know you hate magic.” Hawke breathed in. It broke in stutters. “And I know I’m your exception, for now. But I _can’t…_ ” His voice broke. “I can’t stop being a mage. I can never be anything but a mage!” Hawke’s hands clenched into fists. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. Fenris couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry! This is all I can ever be!” Hawke turned back around. “I’m standing with my people.”

“Think carefully, champion,” Meredith said. The title was a sneer. “Stand with them and you share their fate.”

Death. Fenris’ heart flipped.

Hawke was talking about giving his life for mages. Mages who had killed, tortured, kidnapped. Mages who would reach out for demons the instant they felt fear or anger or betrayal. Mages unlike Hawke. If he fought against the templars, it wouldn’t just be his life, either. It would be the lives of every person in Thedas, every single living person who wished only to live safely, suddenly contending with the freedom of mages who would be all too happy to take more and more power for themselves. Unchecked, how long would it be before all the world looked like Tevinter?

Yet, even as he thought that, he felt shame. He’d said that magic wrought evil. Straight to Azzan’s face. He hadn’t meant that _all_ magic was evil, but that magic had created plenty of it. Yet Azzan had clearly felt as if he’d been attacked. And not for the first time. He thought Fenris had meant that – he’d thought Fenris considered him an exception. An exception to a rule. Had he always felt that way? When he’d lain with Fenris, had he been waiting for Fenris to turn on him? To feel disgusted? Sickened?

Whatever he’d felt, it was clear he’d been waiting for this moment. This moment when he did something Fenris couldn’t abide, and they went their own ways. Even now, the thought of fighting for mages’ freedom made him sick. The thought of letting Azzan go into this alone made him sicker.

Despite Fenris’ words, despite Meredith’s threats, despite the fact that Hawke was acting as if he was standing alone, Azzan glared at Meredith. “I’m not helping you, Meredith.”

“Thank the Maker,” Orsino breathed.

“You are a fool, champion.” She raised her arms to her templar knights. “Kill them all! I will rouse the rest of the Order.”

Orsino turned to his mages and ordered them to run. They did. And just like that, mages were on the loose in the city of Kirkwall. Templars rushed to take Hawke, swords raised to cut him through. Fenris raced forward to stop them. They froze in place, Hawke’s familiar green glyph beneath their feet. Fenris shoved one back with one hand, his other bringing his greatsword forward, quickly carving a path between Hawke and his enemies. The templars glared at him as he helped the Circle’s mages escape.

Hawke’s aura remained on Fenris despite his words. The few blows the templars managed to land were swept away, blood barely spurting before his skin closed over the wounds. All around him, Hawke’s friends converged, clearing away the templars and stopping several more from chasing the Circle mages. An arrow shot into the neck of a man Fenris engaged. A second found Isabela’s daggers in his flank, making him an easy target for Fenris’ sword. Another barely managed to get within range of Fenris before he turned to stone.

The battle was short, and overall of little consequence. The worst of the fight was when Hawke’s aura disappeared; the first time it happened, Fenris turned wide eyes to the place he’d last seen his lover; Hawke still stood, but a grimace graced those beautiful lips; templars had used their powers to take his magic from him, cutting off Hawke’s connection to his magic and the spirit within him. The thought angered him, oddly enough; Hawke’s magic existed only to heal, yet these people would take that from him? Didn’t they know he was different?

The thought burned, caught in his mind and throat. He could barely breathe past it. Hawke had chosen to stand against them. He’d chosen to fight a battle to the death for the sake of mages whose brethren had just recently stolen his brother and held him hostage. Who had harbored blood mages who had attempted to kill him the moment they’d decided he was at fault for the misery they felt in their lives. One of whom even now hounded Hawke’s every step, sending threats and sickening promises to Hawke’s doorstep.

To these men, Hawke was the same as every other mage. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Choosing the wrong side. Even Fenris thought Hawke was making a mistake. Even Fenris… even Fenris thought most mages…

Fenris would not allow Hawke to be cut down for choosing the side of the mages, yet even he…

The battle ended swiftly; with all of Hawke’s friends battling beside him, it took little time for them to defeat the small contingent of men Meredith had had with her. Hawke stood in the middle of them all as Orsino looked upon the death already surrounding them. “So it’s come to this,” he said. More screams came from the city, but they were being drowned out by the sounds of swords and fire. The elf turned to Hawke. “I don’t know if we can win this war, champion, but… thank you.”

Hawke said nothing. He had to hear the sounds of death, as well. Fenris wondered what they sounded like. What they meant to him.

Orsino looked to Anders. He had moved to sit on a crate, his hands before him, his staff placed to his side. A show that said he was unwilling to fight. Orsino’s lips curled. “I will leave your _friend_ for you to deal with. I must return to the gallows. Meet me there as soon as you can.”

Hawke nodded, and Orsino ran off. Fenris could hear the grand enchanter calling forth his magic, shouting some sort of threat to someone. Hawke did not turn to watch the elf leave. He also didn’t turn to Fenris. Instead, he stepped to Anders’ side. Fenris, having never been a friend to the abomination, could do little but watch. This was Azzan’s hurt to carry, just as Hadriana had been his.

In these moments, when Azzan needed someone the most, Fenris was less than useless – he was a hindrance.

Oddly – or not oddly, considering how silent Azzan had been this entire venture – Anders spoke first. “There’s nothing you could say that I haven’t already said to myself.” The man sat on his crate as fire burst up along the streets around them. Several someones let out their death cries into the burning sky. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this.”

Fenris snarled. He couldn’t help it. It was instinctive. Yet the wording… technically, couldn’t Azzan say the same thing? He, too, had taken a spirit into his soul. He’d… _merged_ with it. Granted, he’d done so to be able to heal people, but hadn’t Anders used his spirit to do the same? The same fear as ever emerged, that Azzan had stepped into something he couldn’t handle, that he was a ticking time bomb and didn’t even know it.

Azzan stared down at his old friend. Fenris, staring at Azzan’s back, could not see the look on the man’s face. “You took him in because he would have died.”

Anders shook his head. “This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

Azzan Hawke, a mage, spoke again, his voice just as quiet as before. “Does that spirit call this justice?”

“No.” Anders looked ahead, refusing to meet Azzan’s gaze once again. Hiding. “When we merged, he ceased to be. We are one now. I can no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could.”

 _We are one now_. Just as Azzan and his spirit of faith were one.

“So you start a massacre to prove a point?”

The words didn’t hold any heat to them. Azzan just sounded tired. His friends all watched, just as Fenris did. Standing back, as if they hadn’t been just as friendly with Anders as Azzan. As if they had nothing to lose or gain. As if Azzan was standing alone. Fenris watched, torn. He felt, suddenly, as if he didn’t belong.

“I’m not proving a point!” Anders snapped. The man lowered his head, his brows curving down as he took the blow Azzan had apparently given him. “I’m changing a world.” He raised his head again. “You’ve never been part of the Circle. I have. The people fear what we could do. But to use that fear to bludgeon us into submission is wrong. And they do it with our blessing!” Anders grimaced. “If I pay for that with my life, then I pay. Perhaps then, Justice would at least be free.”

Hawke stood for several interminable seconds. “Opinions?”

Sebastian barely waited for Hawke to finish speaking the word before he called for Anders’ head. Isabela remarked only on his plan. Fenris took a deep breath. He hadn’t asked for others’ opinions when he’d faced down Hadriana and Danarius. He didn’t think it his place to tell Hawke what to do. But once again, he kept his old promise to himself. “He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it.”

Aveline agreed. Merrill cooked up one of her usual harebrained concoctions, the idea that the abomination should actually join with them. Varric scowled. “I think I’m sick of mages and templars.”

A sound response. Fenris was almost sorry he hadn’t thought of it.

“Whatever you do,” Anders said, “just do it.”

Azzan looked so alone as he stared down at his best friend. It was an aloneness Fenris couldn’t breach. His words had placed a wall between them that kept Fenris too far from Azzan to touch. He could feel it, almost tangible, between them. He knew Azzan could feel it, too.

For long, interminable moments, Azzan stood beside Anders, not saying a word. Fenris still couldn’t see his face, but the tense line of his shoulders, the slight heaves of breath, told him of the struggle in him. For Fenris, the answer might have been simple. For Azzan, it was not.

“Just. Go.” Azzan turned away from Anders, missing the stunned look his friend sent him.

“No!” Sebastian said. He stormed up to Hawke, breaking the gap between them all to get into Hawke’s face. “You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies. Or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule.”

Azzan lifted his chin. “Nice. ‘Work of the Maker,’ indeed. Funny how you show interest in reclaiming the throne only when you have some grudge you wish to enact.”

“Do not test me, Hawke.”

“Test you?” Azzan showed his teeth. “You speak of maleficarum, once again forgetting that I’m an apostate, myself. For once, take your self-righteous arrogance and stuff it. Why not just admit that you were never interested in helping others unless they looked and thought the same as you?”

“How dare you,” Sebastian hissed. “I thought you might be different, but it’s clear now you’re the same as the rest of them. The fact that you even helped him with this!”

Azzan’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Do not interfere, Sebastian.”

Sebastian pointed at him. “You’re the one who taught me that it is the ends that matter, not the steps you take to get there.”

“If you learned that, you weren’t paying attention to a thing I said!” Azzan snapped. “When did I ever act as if only the ends mattered?!”

Sebastian spat in Azzan’s face. “I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true justice is.”

Sebastian turned, but not before Azzan snapped, “none of you know the difference between justice and vengeance!” Still, as Azzan watched Sebastian leave, Fenris saw those eyes fill with more tears. Azzan’s gritted teeth seemed to be the only thing keeping them at bay.

“Thank you for my life,” Anders said. Azzan looked back down at him. Still, Anders didn’t meet Azzan’s gaze. Instead he stared at the ground. “I’ll try not to make such a mess of it this time.” Anders picked up his staff and, without looking back, walked away. Fenris watched the man go. He wanted to rip the mage apart for what he’d done. Yet he also felt, horribly, as if the very desire was some sort of sin within him. An infection. One he’d loosed on Azzan, as well.

For long, horrible moments, Azzan stood alone, his head bent low. Fenris knew what was happening, what Azzan was hiding from them. Yet he couldn’t find a way to bridge the gap between them. Watching Azzan silently cry, he felt as if oceans separated them, with no bridge in sight.

It took only a few moments for Azzan to right himself and return to them. Fenris knew he wasn’t the only one to see the redness of Azzan’s eyes or the trails he hadn’t quite wiped from his cheeks, but he was not the only one to choose not to remark on them. Varric even went to far as to turn their attention to what was important. “We’d all better get to the gallows, and quick. It’s going to be quite a show.”

But Hawke shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded raw. He cleared it loudly before speaking again, yet still he barely managed more than a whisper. “None of you need come with me.”

“Hawke.” Varric stepped up and clapped Azzan on the arm. “Jokes aside. You won’t pull me away. I’m with you.”

Merrill rushed forward. “This is what’s right. Protecting innocent people. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

Isabela cursed softly. “Well, I’m not letting the two of you off your leashes on your own.” She smiled at Merrill as the young elf beamed at her. “You risked your life to get me out of a jam, Hawke. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Hawke opened his mouth to argue, but stopped and closed it again. He looked so close to breaking.

“I see what you are trying to do,” Aveline said. She sounded resigned. “And my place is with you.” She pulled out her shield. “You are right; no matter what, the only one guilty of anything wrong is Anders. Who _will_ have to answer for his crimes, Hawke.”

Azzan nodded, his gaze turning emptier and emptier as each moment passed. Each moment unbroken by Fenris’ voice. “There’s going to be enough death,” Azzan said. “No matter what. No more.”

Aveline nodded.

Fenris watched it all. The feeling of being an outsider increased. Aveline’s hang-ups were similar to his own – she believed in the Circle. She knew it was necessary. Yet she recognized these mages as innocent. On some level, Fenris thought he could believe the same. But allowing them full freedom simply because they were innocent this time? And how long before they turned into Anders? How long before they destroyed other Circles, until they began a war that encompassed the whole of Thedas? How long before every single mage in the world had no one to ensure they didn’t abuse the power at their fingertips?

He looked at Azzan. How long had he stood by this man, allowing him to make small efforts to gain mages more freedom? How many times had he overlooked such actions that, in the end, would have culminated in this moment? Yes, perhaps it would have involved less bloodshed, but Hawke had never pretended to not be fighting for mage rights.

Fenris had deluded himself into thinking he had accepted everything about Hawke. He’d thought knowing that there were good men who had magic would be enough. He’d thought wanting Hawke to retain his freedom had been enough.

He’d allowed himself a false world, a safe, happy little bubble, in which the only mage he would ever accept being free was Hawke, and they could both be happy with that. And Hawke had allowed him that fairy tale. Hawke had pretended that Fenris’ hatred toward mages didn’t trouble him, when clearly he’d felt anguish over it. Fenris thought once again about all the things he’d said about magic. He’d thought Hawke had understood that he’d been lashing out. Perhaps, on some level, Hawke did. But if Hawke had said that some people deserved to be slaves – even if Hawke was angry, or frustrated, would Fenris have been able to forgive that?

He thought of Orana. Hawke had done nothing but offer the woman a job, yet Fenris had acted so hostile, simply over the idea that Hawke might keep her as a slave. If he had? Would Fenris have been able to accept that?

No. He already knew he wouldn’t.

So why? Why had he thought that Hawke would accept his desire to have mages kept in the Circle? Hawke had made his opinion plain. Even though he’d been polite, and kind, and quiet, still Hawke had insisted that the Circle was wrong, that it wasn’t the right way, that it hurt people. Azzan had never pushed his opinion on Fenris, but he’d made it so clear. So obvious. Looking back on each conversation now, it was a wonder he hadn’t caught on immediately. And it was a statement on how gentle Azzan was, that Fenris never felt like he was being called out or spoken against, even when he clearly _was_.

All those times, all those hints. They’d led them to this moment. This moment, where Fenris hadn’t changed his mind on mages at all, and Hawke hadn’t changed his, either. The ocean between them was their stances on magic, and there truly was nothing to help them bridge the expanse separating them.

“It is a mistake,” Fenris said. His voice, his words, his gaze, were flinty. Hawke flinched. His gaze slipped to the ground. “But I won’t abandon you.”

“I won’t have you fighting for something you don’t believe in.” Hawke’s shoulders curled in.

“I don’t believe in them, or in this. But I won’t abandon you.” He moved until he was inches before Hawke. Until the man had no choice but to raise his head and look at him. “You do not choose what I do and do not fight for.”

Azzan swallowed. Nodded. “All right,” he said, his voice small. Fenris nodded.

In mere minutes, Azzan had lost two of his dearest friends. Both to vengeance, and stupidity, and hate. Fenris knew how close the line was, now. Even he could have been lost to it. The idea of helping mages – of being their shield as they tried to run for freedom – burned in the back of his throat. He led the way down Hightown’s burning roads, taking the front and forcing Hawke to follow from behind. As he went, he thought, not of Anders, but of Sebastian.

Azzan, his emotions higher than Fenris had perhaps ever seen them, save the day his mother had died, had turned on the man he’d called friend. Sebastian had threatened Hawke and Anders both when he’d promised destruction on Kirkwall. He’d given Hawke an ultimatum. He’d called every mage in Kirkwall a maleficarum. He’d promised an army of men marching up to Kirkwall’s gates, each ready to slaughter every mage, potentially every man, woman, and child, in order to get his revenge against a single killer.

He thought of Hawke’s words as they battled their way through a contingent of templars, each chasing after the last of the mage stragglers. He defended their escape as he remembered Hawke’s furious retorts. _You speak of maleficarum, once again forget_ _ting_ _that I’m an apostate, myself._ How many times had Fenris reminded himself of that very thing after he’d once again bandied about such phrases as _what does magic touch that it doesn’t spoil?_

 _You,_ his mind had always thought, looking at Hawke. _Magic never spoiled you._

The idea of being an exception. _For now_ , Hawke had said. _I know I’m your exception, for now_. Every time he’d learned something new about Hawke’s relationship with his spirit, he’d felt the same level of unease. He’d wondered all over again if he hadn’t misread Hawke, if Hawke wasn’t yet another mage taking advantage of the power so innately a part of him. Even after he’d come to accept the odd relationship between Hawke and the spirit, how often had he feared the danger Hawke had put himself in? How often had he waited for the moment when he might lose Hawke to his magic?

_Why not just admit that you were never interested in helping others unless they looked and thought the same as you?_

How easily he’d said he loved Hawke. How easily he’d expected that to be enough.

He’d thought to show Hawke he wasn’t going anywhere, that he recognized Hawke wasn’t Danarius. He’d thought doing so in bed would show Azzan how he felt.

He’d been so wrong.

They made it down Hightown’s steps into Lowtown, only to find the templars already falling to another’s blade. The blue patchwork between the steel plates of the man’s armor told them Grey Warden just before the man turned. Behind him, Hawke sucked in a breath. “Carver?”

Carver caught Hawke’s gaze and turned right to him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Hawke’s younger brother hurried to his side. Side by side again, Fenris was struck once more by how short and small Hawke seemed next to the young man. Carver stood inches above his brother, with muscles far better defined than Hawke’s own. Carver looked him up and down, finally touching his arm as if to assure himself Hawke was real. “I thought you were dead.”

Hawke seemed to lean forward, only to catch himself. “Last time we spoke,” he said, “it didn’t seem like that would matter to you.”

Carver let go of Hawke’s arm and sighed. His shoulders slumped. In that instant, he looked exactly like his older brother. “Look.” Carver turned around, checked the area. Then he turned back and faced Hawke head-on. He’d grown. “I know what happened in the Deep Roads. You saved my life, and I didn’t even thank you. And then you saved me from those mages, and I barely managed to thank you there, too.”

“That one was my fault,” Hawke ventured. Thankfully, Carver ignored it.

“You’re the only family I have left. I have to stand by you. Just say the word, and you’ll have my blade.”

Azzan started asking about the Grey Wardens. Fenris listened with half an ear as he took in Hawke’s stance. It was abnormal for him to question the chance for help, especially from a loved one. His shoulders were still stiff, so much so that it would hurt him to relax them at this point. Every question he asked, whether it be on Carver’s feelings toward him or whether Carver was allowed to be there with him, all seemed to stem from a place Fenris had never seen before. A belief that his loved ones would betray him. And from what he could see, this was not a new feeling to Hawke.

During the past several years, Hawke had faced betrayal from Aveline, Fenris, Isabela, the knight captain, Cullen, and several other people he’d attempted to help. In the past hour, he’d faced it from Anders, Sebastian, and Fenris again. Even Aveline had voiced a protest. The only ones to stay by Hawke no matter what had been Varric and, oddly enough, Merrill, the one maleficar in their group.

They’d all taught Hawke to expect betrayal and abandonment. Fenris himself had been one of the most complicit.

“This is what I was meant to be,” Carver said. Conviction laced his tone. “And I won’t thank you by doing nothing while you start a war.”

Azzan didn’t protest the wording. Perhaps he understood that Carver was right. If Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, had chosen the side of the templars, this would not be a war. It would be far more like a slaughter.

Something in Azzan’s countenance seemed to mirror Fenris’ conclusion. He nodded. “Your blade would be welcome.”

Carver smiled. It was tense, and perhaps wistful, but it was real. That, more than anything, seemed to calm something in Azzan. A calm Fenris couldn’t give him. “The Hawke brothers together again, huh? Just like old times.”

Fenris saw the moment Azzan’s aura embraced Carver. Something bright lit in the younger man’s eyes.

Hawke held out his hand. Carver grasped it tight. “Thank you, brother.”

Fenris couldn’t feel more out of place.

* * *

In Lowtown, they saw templars corner a mage until she called upon demons to defend her. They found groups of demons lying in wait for any unfortunate enough to pass. They found templars beating down doors, grabbing people doing little more than cowering, and slitting their throats. They found battlefields created from the city’s streets, mages against templars; the mages created walls of fire, and the templars slashed through them. Azzan went straight to the mages, lending them his healing, and Fenris, with Carver a far more willing accomplice by Hawke’s side, was forced to defend them all in order to keep Hawke alive.

The thing that got to him was the looks of hope on the mages’ faces. These people were scared, and desperate. The ones Hawke managed to save, the ones that didn’t turn to demons or blood magic – or at least hadn’t hit that level of desperation yet – broke into wide grins and teary eyes the moment they took in their back-up. Rousing calls sounded for the champion, praise to the human and to the Maker – every disheartened look swept away when they saw Hawke.

These people knew Hawke was on their side. Some of them may have even known long before this day. Long before Fenris had been willing to see it. He looked at all of them, the dirt and bruises stained on their cheeks and clothes, and wondered how different these people were from him, so long ago. When he’d faced the destruction of the Fog Warriors he’d come to care for, those he’d killed with his own hands, and the desire to be gone from it all. To be free.

Kirkwall’s streets were practically soaked with the blood of not just mages and templars, but normal, everyday citizens. If they’d sought their freedom by killing these people, perhaps Fenris would have felt differently about it all. At the moment, however, all he could feel was confusion, and perhaps a bit of fear. None of this had truly sunk in yet. All he knew was that Hawke had thrown himself into a hellish situation, and Fenris had to ensure he… survived? Could they? With every street they passed, the idea of getting out of it all alive seemed more and more absurd. As if they were attempting to plug up the hole of a dam, even while it crumbled apart. The oncoming river would not be denied.

By the time they made it to the boats and began their cross to the gallows, the entirety of Kirkwall was a haven of death and destruction. The town was reduced to corpses and rubble. As if the Qunari had returned to finish what they’d started. Explosions rocked the sky, showering sparks of light within the smoke that covered everything. The Gallows’ spires could hardly be seen through the haze.

Isabela manned the boat, ordering them about until she felt assured they were on stable footing. Azzan worked mindlessly, only to turn toward the gallows when the wind took over their labor and stare across the sea at the chaos before them. Fenris couldn’t begin to imagine what Azzan was thinking. He could barely think, himself.

Azzan turned back to them. His gaze landed on Fenris. For one long second, they looked right at each other. Then Azzan looked away.

Varric sighed. “Elf.” Fenris looked at him. “Go to him.”

He looked back at Hawke. The man still looked like he was alone, even as they all sailed on the same small vessel together. He didn’t know that anything he might have to say would be of any solace to Hawke. In fact, his very presence likely caused Hawke pain. Still, that thread of fear laced through him once more. He couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead of them, and whether they had any chance of surviving it. He did not want his last moments to be spent apart from Hawke’s side.

He went.

He heard Carver bend down behind him, heard the man ask if something had happened between the two of them. Heard Isabela gleefully declare, “lover’s spat.”

Perhaps it was only that. He hoped so.

He didn’t think so.

“They finally got together?” Carver said. “Since when?”

He could almost hear Varric shrug. “Dunno. They refuse to tell us the juicy stuff.”

“I like to imagine it,” Isabela said. “I have a good imagination.”

“I bet it was cute,” Merrill said with a giggle.

Carver made a vaguely retching sound.

“Hawke.” He tried to ignore them and focus on the man before him. Hawke’s new armor was caked with blood and offal. Fenris picked up a slip of what looked to be bloody skin from the man’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He expected Hawke to quietly ask for space, but instead, the man turned hooded eyes on him. “I never wanted to drag you into a battle you didn’t want to fight. And – and I know you choose what you get involved in, but – but I also know how you feel about all this.”

Fenris frowned. _He_ didn’t understand how he felt; how could Hawke?

Hawke crossed his arms. It would have looked strong if he hadn’t also ducked his head. In that simple act, Fenris saw a need to protect himself. From him? “I didn’t want – I’m happy.” Then, again, “I’m happy.” As if to convince himself. “With what we have. Had.” Hawke covered his face with a single hand. “With whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Fenris shook his head. This was going all wrong. Was this how Hawke truly felt? Was this what Hawke thought they were?

“I’m sorry,” Hawke breathed. “This isn’t the time.”

“This may be the only time,” he said, angry suddenly that Hawke had hidden this for so long, that it was something he was only learning right before they met their end. He’d never known this stood between them. It made everything they’d had together tainted. This was what he was to be given, here at the end – a truth he learned too late. “You only now choose to tell me the truth. Now that it’s too late.”

Hawke flinched. Fenris felt fury rise like bile from deep within him. Explosions rocked the land beyond their boat. They were sailing into death. What in Andraste’s name were they arguing for? Just what was he doing?

“I’m sorry,” Azzan whispered.

Fenris wanted to choke him. How dare he act so broken, so subservient. How dare he look so pitiable. This could have been dealt with long ago if Azzan had simply spoken up about it. Now – now they had no time. Nothing. They didn’t even have memories. “How could you do this to us?”

Azzan flinched. His head was so low, only his eyes and nose were visible above his neck guard. “I know it’s not enough. I’ve always known it’s not enough, but Maker. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. All I ever wanted was for you to know you were loved. As you are. Everything.”

Fenris turned away. He’d seen the tears threaten once again. He hated them, and hated himself more for feeling hate instead of love.

Yes, Hawke could have told him. Hawke could have laid out every single truth in his soul – his fears, his hurts, his opinions. He could have told Fenris straight out that Fenris’ hatred of magic hurt him, that he was dedicated to the freedom of mages. That he intended to fight for their rights, and that he needed Fenris to recognize that he was just one of many mages living in fear that templars’ gazes might one day turn in his direction. But would Fenris have accepted it? Or would he have turned away from the man yet again, believing Hawke’s stance to be unacceptable?

When laid down side by side, the only difference between Hawke and Anders was the steps they were willing to take to achieve their goals. They both fully believed in the idea of mage freedom.

Fenris never would have accepted it. Even now, he didn’t accept it. Even though he’d found himself taking Hawke’s side years ago, refusing to let Aveline turn him in, still he hadn’t once questioned his belief that mages needed to be locked away. Hawke had been an exception. _For now_. But if Hawke had pressured him to agree? To change his beliefs? To accept Hawke’s argument?

He never would have. Never.

And Hawke had known it.

And in knowing, Hawke had chosen to take whatever he could get from Fenris before he figured it out.

He opened his mouth, ready to rail at Hawke. Ready to condemn him. But he stopped. Because finally, _finally_ , the rest of Hawke’s words sank in. _All I ever wanted was for you to know you were loved. As you are. Everything._

He gritted his teeth. Even before he’d gone to live with Hawke, he’d known he had to watch Hawke closely. But since he’d chosen to live in Hawke’s home, he’d seen it still more. That irritating habit the man had of choosing someone else’s happiness before his own. He’d seen it every time they’d made love. And it _had_ been making love, despite how used and dirty he felt in this moment. He’d known every single time they’d been together; his pleasure had been more important to Hawke than Hawke’s own. He’d had to work overtime to deliver the same level of completion Hawke gave him. It was Hawke’s nature. The one thing that made him stand out above everyone else. The one thing that, now, looked more like the man’s greatest weakness.

_Didn’t you know? I was yours from the start._

Azzan had expected Fenris to get fed up with him from the start. At every turn, Fenris had been the one to choose the next step in their relationship. He’d been the first to initiate sex. He’d been the first to confess. He’d been the first to move in. Over and over and over again, Azzan had left it to him, and then, once Fenris had shown a willingness for it, Azzan had nearly flooded him with reciprocation. He’d noticed before how Azzan must have bottled up his feelings for years. Fenris had thought Azzan had been cognizant of Fenris’ needs, but what if it had been more than that? What if Azzan had been afraid of how Fenris would have reacted if Azzan had made the first move?

He thought again of how many times he’d spoken against magic. How many times had he said mages were dangerous and needed to be locked up? How many times had he scoffed at Azzan’s gentle rebuffs, at the mage’s claims that the Circle wasn’t the solution? Had Hawke been _afraid_ of him? Truly afraid? A fear that had made the love he felt stifling, until it had begun choking him?

Had he been unwittingly _abusing_ Hawke?

The thought had him stumbling back. He shook his head. No. This was a nightmare. It couldn’t be happening.

He couldn’t have brought that much pain to Hawke, for the man to think his very heart unsafe from the man he loved. That wasn’t what they were.

Was it?

Hawke hunched in on himself, and Fenris felt sick. It was. Somehow, this nightmare was their reality.

He didn’t even know who to blame.

* * *

They arrived at the gallows running. Hawke jumped off first, his aura spilling out over them before they’d even touched land. Fenris hurried behind him, Carver only half a step away. If Fenris had thought Kirkwall a slaughterhouse before, he hadn’t a name for the gallows. Corpses spilled over the ground, blood within blood, body against body. Beyond the docks was a battlefield, the fighting still ongoing. Hawke stared for only a moment before surging ahead.

Orsino had managed to round up his people, and they ascended into the Circle. The very place the templars wanted to keep them, they wished to return to. It seemed senseless, suddenly, for the templars to attack. If the mages were so eager to return to those halls, what was the point of the battle? Yet the templars persisted, and Orsino, outnumbered, fought back. The elf slammed one templar back down the stairs. Another he sent flying, the magic so powerful it launched the man to within a meter of Hawke’s feet. Hawke stared at the fallen templar for only a moment before hurrying forward. “First enchanter!”

The relief in Hawke’s voice made Fenris shiver.

“Champion! You survived! Oh, thank the Maker!” The relief was echoed in Orsino’s voice as he caught sight of Hawke. Fenris remembered hoping this man might be a loyal friend to Hawke. He wondered at himself now, that he thought of mages in the Circle one way and mages seeking freedom another. Was Orsino the same man now? Could Fenris accept the man if he stood clear of the Circle’s cages?

Could he accept himself for wanting Hawke’s friend caged?

Orsino stood with his staff before him, the templars he’d defied littering the ground around them. Fenris felt no pity for Orsino’s victims. He felt little at all. “Champion! We must–”

“And here you are!”

There was an emotion, finally, breaking beyond the horror and self-recrimination. Fear. He turned at the sound of Meredith’s voice to find a full contingent of templars bearing down on them.

“Let us speak, Meredith,” Orsino called. The elf walked down the steps of the Circle, though he kept his staff at the ready. “Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect!”

Speak? Fenris stared, startled, at the man before him. Speak meant an acceptance of compromise. These mages were willing to compromise on all of this? To perhaps return to where they’d been?

“I will entertain a surrender. Nothing more,” Meredith said. She stepped forward, as well. Suddenly he and Hawke were in the middle of the two, in the barren no-man’s-land between forces. Hawke stepped aside, sweeping Fenris and the others with him – shielding them with his body as the two leaders came face to face with one another.

A surrender? This woman was the one to demand the deaths of every mage in Kirkwall. Would a surrender allow them their lives? He looked to Hawke. He didn’t think so. He knew enough about hate to know better.

Neither leader stood alone. Mages quickly came to support their grand enchanter, and Meredith’s men stood all around her. Fenris caught sight of Cullen within their ranks and grimaced. Yet another person Azzan had been fond of.

Meredith broke the stalemate. “Speak,” she ordered, “if you have something to say.”

“Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith,” Orsino said. “Before this goes too far.” His voice was low. Submissive. Fenris grimaced. It was like looking into a broken mirror. He recognized the vocal patterns of someone used to being controlled. Owned. Even when free, he knew he hadn’t sounded strong when Danarius had first shown himself in The Hanged Man. In that instant, he’d become the same person he’d been before. Only Hawke’s words, his insistence on Fenris being a free man, had helped Fenris find his confidence again.

“Imprison us if you must,” Orsino continued, and Fenris flinched. “Search the tower. I will even help you.” Orsino dared bridge the gap between them. Azzan tensed, ready to defend his friend if need be. From the stiffening of many templars’ shoulders, they either prepared an attack of their own or noticed the same. “But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit!”

It sounded horribly reasonable. And Fenris, remembering Hadriana and Danarius and all of the magisters Danarius had ever called over for tea, already knew how it would end.

“The grand cleric is dead, killed by a mage. The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them.”

Azzan raised his hand slightly. Orsino caught the movement and backed away.

“Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late.”

In reality, Fenris thought with dread, Orsino could have promised everything from the moment of his birth, and it never would have been enough.

“We can still prevent this before you both tear Kirkwall apart,” Hawke said. He held up a hand and moved forward. Fenris heard Carter sigh.

“You heard her,” Orsino said. The resignation in his voice sounded too familiar. “She’s wanted this all along.”

Azzan’s lips thinned. So. Hawke believed the same. He’d known. This was why he’d become the beck and call boy for both Orsino and Meredith lately. He’d been desperately trying to prevent this exact situation from happening. Fenris had seen the tension, but his gaze had been solely on Azzan, on his increased proximity to the templars and the Circle. If he’d paid more attention, would he have seen? Or would he have continued being so willfully blind?

Meredith tilted her gaze toward Azzan. She sneered. “I’m disappointed in you, champion. So be it. You will share the Circle’s fate.”

Again. She threatened him _again_. Fenris ground his teeth together.

Orsino shook his head. “So what is it to be, Meredith? Do we fight here?” Orsino indicated the gallows around them and the multitude of bodies already littering it.

“Go,” Meredith said. “Prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.”

In other words, she didn’t want to fight without every single one of her soldiers available to cull the mage herd. She would lose less men, and the mages… trapped in the Circle, no allies anywhere to be found? They would perhaps have time to pray before it all ended.

Something heavy and molten and _massive_ pooled in his chest. They would all die. Today. Here. Now. They were to die. And his last words to Hawke had been in anger.

_How could you do this to us?_

No. He hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t let Hawke die thinking he hated him.

“This isn’t over,” Orsino promised. The elf’s eyes narrowed. His voice, submissive just moments ago, grew in fury until it seemed to roar.

Fenris recognized that, too. The moment when subservience failed, hatred and conviction took its place. Orsino was right. In this moment, the mages were right. This woman, magicless, was like Danarius. And her eyes were turned on Hawke.

This wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over until she was dead.

Orsino and his mages left. Hawke, without hesitation, went with them. And Fenris, without hesitation, followed.

* * *

Hawke went from friend to friend, speaking first with Varric before moving to Merrill, and then to Isabela. As much as Fenris itched to speak with Hawke, he recognized the others’ right to speak with him, as well. Hawke would want the chance to be with them as much as possible. Just in case.

Hawke also spoke with those who were not his friends; he took the time to speak with each mage in turn. A couple even looked familiar. There, the woman who had carried potions to and from the store in the gallows. A bit beside her, a man who had once nearly fawned over Grace, and now spoke very little. And there, Grace’s little friend, the one called Alain, who had used blood magic to free Hawke’s brother when he’d been taken prisoner by Grace and her cohorts. Hawke spoke to them all.

And then there was Anders. The mage had made it to the Circle. The very thing he sought to destroy, he now shamelessly used as a refuge. For the others, Fenris had allowed Hawke and his friends their privacy. For this, Fenris found himself listening in.

“You decided to join the mages, after all.” Anders dared smile at Hawke. The man kept the smile, even as he narrowed his eyes. “Will it sully your victory to have me here?”

Azzan looked down. “When this first happened, all I could see was everything you’d destroyed. The way you’d used me.” Azzan shook his head. Lifted it. “I ordered you to go and left you alone out there, in this madness. I… I was afraid I’d killed you.”

Anders’ smile slipped. It no longer resembled a smirk. Now it just looked hurt. “You let me live.”

“A life is a life. Taking yours – it wouldn’t matter what you’d done. My actions would be the same. Blood for blood. Where would it end?” Azzan ran a hand through his hair. It was barely pulled back anymore after so much fighting. Countless sweaty strands slipped straight back into his face. “You are my friend. No matter how much you’ve hurt me, I still care about you. I would never – and yet I turned you away simply because you’d hurt me. I’d almost let you…” Azzan took a deep breath. “It was a mistake. A horrible one. I’m sorry.”

Anders gripped Hawke’s shoulder. When Hawke just stared, Anders pulled him into a hug. “You didn’t abandon me, Hawke. You’re here now. If you would still have me, I would be honored to fight by your side.”

Azzan returned Anders’ embrace with a grip strong enough to crush the man. “If we win, it will be more your victory than mine, Anders. You know that.”

“It will be a victory for us all.”

Fenris turned away. Azzan still loved Anders, and he still believed in the abomination’s – no. In their joint cause. For all that they were facing death, Anders and Azzan were looking ahead – to potential freedom. Freedom for all mages. The deadly ones. The hate-filled ones. And the good ones, like Hawke, who wanted only to live in peace.

Fenris covered his eyes. His ears, however, still worked fine.

“I underestimated you, Azzan. I really thought, when it was put to the test, you’d have to kill me.” Anders sighed. “You truly are the leader we’ve been waiting centuries for.”

“Mages must have their freedom. It might as well begin here.”

It was so obvious now that Hawke had been fighting a political battle all this time. He’d been oblivious to it, but it had apparently colored all of Hawke’s time in Kirkwall. His many dinners with nobles, his meetings with Kirkwall’s underground – how many days had been filled trying to gain mages’ freedom? And there was Fenris, calling mages monsters and proclaiming the Circle a bastion of morality and reason. All while its leader hunted Hawke down.

What kind of mental hole had he been living in?

“Thank you for standing by me,” Anders said. “We would not have reached this point without you.” Without Hawke stopping them, the templars Meredith had first sent out would have wiped out most of the mages, if not all of them. Yet Fenris was certain now that Anders meant far more. “May the Maker bring us victory. Maybe if He shows His approval, the world will finally be ready to change.”

“Apotheosis one,” Hawke said, voice quiet. A reference to the Chant, which Hawke still believed in to his core.

He tuned out again as Hawke went to speak with his brother, though he somehow found it within himself to be happy for Hawke that he had finally found fellowship with Carver.

For himself, there was little that would settle his mind. He looked around him. Mages leaned against the walls, bowed their heads in prayer, tended one another’s wounds. Here, they did not look like creatures to be feared. Here, they looked like anyone else. Maker, they looked like the people of Darktown.

Could it be that mages could be both powerful and oppressed?

He looked down at his own hands and the lines of lyrium that ran from finger to palm. Yes. It was possible.

He tried not to listen as Hawke spoke with Aveline, so close to where he himself stood. The conversation was stilted and heavy, but Fenris clearly heard Aveline say, after it all, “it’s worth it.” And then… and then.

Fenris looked up, and there Hawke was, standing a scant meter before him, seeming afraid to take the next step. So Fenris went to him. “Hawke.” He looked around again. He felt… lost. “Here I am, about to defend these mages in hopeless battle.” He turned back to Azzan, trying to affect a light-hearted tone. If this was to be their last conversation… “You lead me to strange places.”

He saw Hawke catch his fumbling attempt. Azzan cleared his throat. _“Strange bedfellows?”_ It shocked a laugh out of him. Azzan gave a tremulous smile. “There are stranger places than this. Just watch.”

Azzan didn’t want their last moments to be of them fighting any more than Fenris did. He stepped closer, invading Azzan’s space. “A tempting offer.” Azzan’s eyes widened. That wouldn’t do. It wasn’t right that Hawke be surprised that Fenris may yet want him. He cupped Hawke’s cheek. “I… may not get the chance to say this again. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Azzan. You say you love me just as I am. Even though I distrust mages. Even though I dislike the idea of their freedom. I need you to know that I love you the same. You are a mage, and you advocate the abolition of the Circles. And I love you.”

Azzan’s eyes widened further. The idiot held his breath to stem the tears.

“You’re right,” Fenris said, and couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “I refused to see. Their suffering.” His fingers curled into Azzan’s skin. “ _Your_ suffering. Even when you were with me. I know I still carry the taint of what has been done to me.”

“You’re not tainted,” Azzan said, breaking through to tell him that, of all things, hand quickly raising to touch Fenris’ where it held Azzan as if to prove there was nothing tainted on him.

“I still carry hatred and mistrust. I try to free myself of it, but it lingers nonetheless.” He pressed closer, until he could feel Hawke’s heartbeat against his armor. “But that does not mean I hate mages and magic. I fear it. I fear what it can do if left unchecked. But I don’t hate it. _And I will never hate you.”_

Hawke gritted his teeth, but this time, he could not contain his tears. They fell from both corners of his eyes, long trails that came so thick they must have been suppressed for days. Weeks. Perhaps years. Perhaps since shortly after they’d met. He damned himself for every moment of that time. These were words he should have shared years ago.

Hawke crumbled. He curled into Fenris despite Fenris’ shorter height, wrapped his arms around Fenris’ shoulders, and wept. Fenris held his lover close. Merrill and Anders made aborted moves to come closer. Fenris quelled them with a look.

Just like with Leandra, Azzan’s tears seemed to come from deep within him. His shoulders shuddered as he let himself go. The other mages must have felt uncomfortable, perhaps afraid, to see their leader act this way. But Fenris recognized it for what it was. These tears cleansed.

When finally Hawke pulled back, his nose was running and his eyes puffy and his face streaked with salty tracks. He looked ridiculous, and awful, and beautiful. “Teach me,” Fenris said, when Hawke was finished blowing his nose and cleaning himself up. His spirit seemed to be helping with that, at least; his eyes already looked a bit less swollen. Hawke stared blankly at him. “You say that the Circle isn’t the solution. Teach me what alternatives you see.”

Slowly, as if afraid Fenris might renege, Azzan nodded. When Fenris didn’t take back his words, Azzan grinned widely. “All right.”

Azzan wasn’t the type to demand the kind of world Anders might approve of. He didn’t want mages to live unchecked, without a proper system of justice and balance. Azzan would have put more thought into it than that. He cared about others’ safety and happiness, not just his own. Fenris had lived through several years of freedom, several years on the run. Several years by Azzan’s side. He knew what he believed in. Not Danarius or Hadriana – everything they’d taught him of the world was its darkness. But Azzan. Azzan was the one who had shown him its light.

He played with the loose strands on Azzan’s face. Without asking permission, he reached up and took Azzan’s hairtie out. His hair, sweaty still from the battles and the running, sat primarily back, even after being loosened. Fenris carefully pulled those sticky strands from Azzan’s forehead and curled them back, wrapping the hairtie around them once more. Azzan leaned forward to assist him, resting his head on Fenris’ shoulder. Azzan’s hair was soft, his breath a tickle against Fenris’ neck. When he was done tying the hair back, he held the back of Hawke’s head against him. “Promise me you won’t die.” He breathed deep and let the scent of apples and pumpkin spice fill his nostrils. “I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

Azzan turned his head to Fenris’ neck and breathed. He pulled back, resisting Fenris’ loose hold. He held Fenris’ gaze steadily. “I don’t make that promise unless you do.”

Live. Azzan’s gaze, so deep a blue, begged him. Live.

 _Live_.

 _Because I love you_.

“Nothing is going to keep me from you.” Fenris grabbed Azzan’s jaw and tilted it for his kiss. Azzan surged, nearly falling, into it. Those bare arms pulled Fenris close, wrapped tight around his waist until there was no space between them. Fenris wrapped his arms around Hawke’s neck and sank his fingers into that hair. The hairtie loosened all over again. Whatever. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was Hawke’s lips as they parted, barely letting Fenris in before Azzan slipped his tongue inside Fenris’ mouth, taking charge in a way he never had before. Diving. Begging. Demanding.

Fenris gave it to him. _Freely_. Until Hawke was nipping at his lower lip and breathing heavily into his mouth, down his throat. Fenris felt Hawke’s aura sweep around him, rising like a crescendo from deep within. Hawke’s soul, bound as it was to its spirit, gave itself over to Fenris. Hawke used Fenris’ strength against him, let Fenris take his full weight enough to keep him occupied, and stormed his tongue like battling the gates of the Circle.

Hawke had feared going too far for too long. This was Hawke as he was – giving, and wanting, and desperate. Fenris leaned up on his tip-toes to taste more.

From behind him, he heard a chuckle. “Here comes the make-up sex,” Isabela said gleefully.

Merrill giggled. “They’re such a cute couple.”

Isabela hummed. “I can think of one couple who would be cuter.”

“Oh? Who?”

He felt Azzan’s attention shift then. A gigantic grin swept the man’s lips, ruining the kiss. Fenris looked up at Hawke, amused, ready for another pun, only to catch the man looking behind him. He twisted his neck. There, in the middle of this mess, was Isabela, pulling Merrill in for a kiss of her own. Merrill had yet to figure out how to close her saucer-wide eyes. Isabela, on the other hand, seemed to know _exactly_ what she was doing. She caught the waif of an elf just before her knees gave out. Isabela laughed.

Hawke leaned back down. Those soft lips brushed against Fenris’ again. “I love you,” he whispered.

They’d just admitted they would rather die than live without one another. One would think that enough. Not for Hawke, of course. The sap. “You are my light,” he said, and saw Azzan’s eyes widen again. “You are not an exception because of your magic, Hawke. You have always been my exception. To everything. The moment my life changed.”

Hawke leaned down, hiding his face in Fenris’ neck again. “I always felt like – like there was some horrible chasm between us. We come from two different worlds. You, where mages have so much power they oppress others. Oppress _you_. And me, where mages have so little they are barely considered people. And I always…” Ah. The tears were coming back. “I always looked at that chasm between us and I _didn’t know how to cross it_. No matter what I tried, you were always so far away from me, and I couldn’t reach…”

Fenris sank to the floor, letting the two of them, for the moment, rest. He held Hawke close. Azzan’s skin trembled. The man fought back his tears. He must have known they were running out of time. Yet Fenris was glad. Finally, he was hearing the truth. Even though Azzan spoke of a distance between them, the words themselves were forming the bridge actions could not. The heartbreak Azzan had carried for years was finally known. For the first time, it felt like nothing stood between them. Fenris ducked his head into Azzan’s hair. “I’m here,” he whispered.

Azzan had reached him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just two more parts, and then this baby's finished! We're reaching the end.


End file.
